


Lessons

by Pacifia



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Astronomy, Cosmology, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Narnian Sciences, Narnian Subcultures, Narnian history, Sparring, Training, dwarfs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Summary: "Now, I've shown you all you needed to see to know which flask has been poisoned. Can you deduce which one you should drink?" Edmund's tutors are peculiar.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Lucy Pevensie & Peter Pevensie & Susan Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie & Original Female Character(s), Edmund Pevensie & Original Male Character(s), Edmund Pevensie & Peter Pevensie, Oreius & Edmund Pevensie
Kudos: 14





	1. Lessons in Astronomy

_10th. Greenroof, 1000 - Second-day_

Master Perostorm was studying the array of stars spread like milk-coloured speckles onto a black canvas, squinting with one eye closed, focusing through the wide, convex lens, fitted between two circular, broken metallic rings. Edmund was fascinated by the number of scrolls, some open, some closed, sprawled across the pine table set in his personal library on the top floor of Cair. The Centaur was still intently gazing at the stars when Edmund quietly strode through the small library, admiring the enormous shelves with ancient books, some were manuscripts, some parchments. A wooden plank creaked as he stepped towards the empty desk that bore an open book, depicting an intriguing illustration.

"That one tends to break."

Edmund skittered back, not wanting to crash—quite literally—Susan's tea-party, which he calculated was happening right below them. "Peter said you wished to speak with me?"

"Ah, yes, young King," Master Perostorm said, finally putting down his lens. The Centaur was the most intellectual person Edmund had met. And his appearance strongly conveyed that. He wore glasses, circular, with a black frame firmly placed onto his ears. His white hair which he preferred to tie up in a braid was hiding his pointed ears, and a zig-zag scar on his right cheekbone that he'd acquired almost a century ago. Perostorm quickly scrolled back his papers, piling them up on the edge of the table. Then he placed a chair next to the pine table. The dreadful creaks made Edmund reconsider sitting on the weak chair. "Come, Majesty. I wish to show you something," as he said this, he was slowly assembling scattered pieces to make…something. Edmund was suddenly intrigued. He hopped onto the chair, watching the Centaur carefully as he deliberately fixed two hollow metal rings onto a pipe, and then as Edmund blinked, there was a wooden stand with two small hooks on top; the whole thing was braced by a thick plank on the table.

Master Perostorm then steadily put a tube of sort onto the stand, the metallic, curved hooks that held the tube were pushed down under its weight. Edmund almost jumped off his seat. The lenses. The metallic tube, the hooks. A telescope! Edmund was looking straight through it now. Or he wasn't much sure. He saw only a white, fiery ball, its blazes and sizzles. Then he blinked and Master Perostorm had covered the other side of the scope with his hand. He stomped on the ground once and then adjusted the tube, turning it until it faced the left sky. "This, King Edmund," he said, gently shoving his head forwards until he could see through the lens again, "is Rivellious."

Edmund nodded, seeing another blazing ball of fire. It was blue, however. Intensely bright and flaming. Edmund blinked, trying to focus his vision. The blue flames sizzled up and Edmund noticed their white ends. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't care at the moment. He was fascinated; enchanted. Viewing a star so closely.

"Have you heard of Rivellious before, King Edmund?"

"No," Edmund replied, holding the telescope steady as he continued to peer through it. Such a glorious sight.

But the tube was rudely snatched away from him, and he glowered as Perostorm shifted it again, turning it a little to its right. Only by half an inch. "Look again."

Edmund did. "Sophorus!" he exclaimed, exhilarated to see his friend so closely. For Sophorus was his friend, Edmund had named him when Sophorus was born, mere days after the victory at Beruna. Sophorus was brilliantly yellow, a black ring surrounded him, and to see his flames ignite and then die, Edmund beamed.

"Sire, allow me," Perostorm's voice broke him out of his trance, and Edmund pulled back, letting the Centaur pop out the thick lens from the other side of the scope and then fix another one into the cavity. "Look now."

Edmund did. And he smiled gleefully. It was Rivellious, the blue, graceful star slowly gliding through the sky towards Sophorus, the yellow-black King of the night! And within seconds, a bright light flashed through the scope, making Edmund startle back. He rubbed his eyes. He opened them, and for some seconds, all he saw was a dancing black dot. But slowly, his sight cleared and he peered through the scope again. He was astonished. A blue star with hints of black, surrounded by a white band, now shone brightly. Edmund blinked. Had they—

"They mated," Perostorm told him. "That star is their son, Sophellius."

Edmund giggled, never looking away from Sophellius, his new friend. He'd miss Sophorus. He looked at the Centaur. "What about Rivellious and Sophorus?"

"Pieces of them live in their son. But they've ascended up, to the high heavens. Did you know the blue star, King Edmund?"

"No. I've never seen her."

"Aroxotia birthed her two days ago."

"Two days?" Edmund said, "then how can she mate?"

"Stars don't die, King Edmund. By birthing her, Aroxotia brought her here from the heavens. She would be childless if Lady Alambil hadn't blessed her with a daughter," Perostorm said. "Rivellious is a small piece of Alambil. And now they will meet again in the high heavens."

"But only two days?" Edmund wondered. "Two days isn't nearly enough to live your life."

Master Perostorm laughed. "King Peter had warned me you'd ask many questions. Let's leave them unanswered for now, for I don't nearly have the time to discuss them with you. Tromofes and Clestor are closer."

And just then, the doors opened. "Lucy?" Edmund said, furrowing his brows at his sister.

"Now, now, out of my library, young King. It's the Queen's turn," Perostorm said, lifting him up from the chair by his sleeve. "This," the Centaur told the ten-year-old King as he smiled at his sister, brushing past her, "was your very first Astronomy lesson."

Edmund's brows knitted together and he frowned. He stepped out of the door, ready to shut it, but Lucy suddenly twisted to face him. "And you're supposed to meet with Talus for your lesson!"

Edmund scowled, ready to leave. "And tomorrow, Achemus for your history lesson!" Edmund was already walking to the stairs. "Demiera for your anatomy lesson! And then Orieus! Ask Tirius to help you with your armour, Ed! Peter's taking help of his valet! There's no shame in asking for he…"

Lucy's voice finally faded as Edmund stumbled down the stairs. The third floor, the Eastern Wing, meaning titters and gossips, and tea-parties! That included those predatory women Susan deemed fit to invite from Anvard! Edmund wrinkled his nose and swiftly passed by the open doorway, hoping that his sister and her friends were too busy dipping their noses into tea to notice him. And just as he was heading for the Western Wing and then the flight of stairs that would lead him to the corridor of his room, Peter bumped into him. "Ow!" Edmund said, rubbing his forehead where his brother's had collided with him.

"Peter! You oaf!"

"Sorry," Peter said, chuckling. "Where are you going?"

"To my room. It's almost midnight. And I'm exhausted," Edmund said, giving a lopsided grin.

"What about your lesson with Talus?"

"Some other time," Edmund said, beginning to walk past his brother. But Peter grabbed his arm and hurled him back. Edmund's shoulder slumped and his arms fell limply to his sides. "Peter, I can't even walk properly! The training has worn me out!"

"You know," Peter said, slowly walking to the side of the door beyond which the ladies were giggling, "you could always join Susan's tea parties, O Silver King!"

"I'm ten!"

"They don't seem to care," Peter said, bringing up his fist, ready to knock on the open door.

"No, wait!" Edmund shrieked in panic. "I'll go. Only an hour?"

"Yes. Thanks, Edmund, you know how important it is for us," Peter said. "Off you go." Peter shoved his little brother down the corridor. Edmund sighed, and began trotting towards the stairs he'd just climbed down. He was about to climb back up when Peter's cry of, "Down!" stopped him.

He sighed again as he hurried down the straight flight of stairs. Aslan help him.


	2. Playing With Poison

_10th. Greenroof, 1000 - Second-day_

Talus was waiting for him in the eastern part of the Healing Wing. Edmund had had to cross the Eastern Gardens, go past the orchards, cross a gravel path that led out of Cair and to The Great River's younger sister, River Ralce, through the main gate of the Northern Wing. Edmund then had to climb down the stairs that provided a comfortable path to the lower ground—for Cair Paravel was built on a small hill, at the mouth of the Great River—and smiled to finally have sight of the glimmering, marble walls of the Healing Wing that bordered the Eastern Gardens. He entered through the front door, not bothering to knock for he knew Talus would be expecting him. And he was.

The faun was breathing in the fumes coming out of the mouth of a flask when Edmund found him. Talus then grimaced, wrinkling his nose at the bitter smell, and then turned. Giving a wide smile, Talus ushered Edmund to the square table in the middle. He pulled back a chair and gently shoved Edmund onto the seat. Edmund adjusted the chair, settling onto it a little more comfortably. By the time he was done, Talus had was rummaging through the cabinets built above the small bed on which the faun slept—its bedding was covered with fur. Unbothered by messiness then. Like Peter, Edmund thought amusedly. And when he turned back attention to his tutor, Talus already had placed three flasks in front of him. Edmund blinked. Two were blue and transparent, and the other red and opaque, much like blood. Edmund leaned away from the flask at the thought.

"One of them has been poisoned, King Edmund."

"I'm sorry?" Edmund asked, bewildered by the simplicity and comfort that the alarming words were said.

Talus, as if he hadn't even heard Edmund, said, "And you are going to drink one."

Edmund was half-ready to shout for the guards. But he stopped himself. If Peter had put his trust in the faun, even if he seemed mad to him right now, he would do as the faun said. But before that, "Am I to choose? Or are you?"

"Oh, no, my King, you are going to choose. But first, a small demonstration, if you will," Talus said, stomping his hooves. Then he pulled out a vial, smaller than Lucy's diamond cordial, long and thin. Much like a tube. It contained a purple mixture. Talus shook the tube once and the colour darkened. He placed it beside a fourth flask Edmund had failed to notice until now. It was colourless and transparent, showing a magnified, wavy image of the faun's fingers as he brought it to the middle of the table. Then he held the tube over it, tilting it slightly. A drop fell. Edmund blinked. And the flask's colour had changed to a glistening purple. Only natural, Edmund thought.

"This was water, King Edmund," Talus said. Edmund mentally scoffed, like he hadn't known. "And taste this," the faun suddenly said, sending a sliding blue flask towards him. Edmund raised his eyebrow at him. Hadn't one of them been poisoned? "Oh, not this one. Taste it, go on!"

Edmund picked the flask and hesitated for some small seconds. But then conceded and quickly shoved a drop down his throat. Sour. Very sour. He put the flask back, fanning his burning tongue with his hand. Too sour. As if someone had just squeezed a lemon's juice into his mouth. "Water," he said through his cracked lips, licking them.

"Oh, give it time. You're not a small child," Talus said, grabbing the flask that had killed Edmund's throat. Edmund rolled his eyes. He was ten! A child indeed, if you asked him.

Talus then tilted the small tube over the mouth of the flask. And a purple drop fell. A rush of colour spread through the mixture, bubbles of purple hovering over the surface. After a blink, the mixture had almost lost its blue colour, the purple dominating. Edmund couldn't resist another blink when his eyes burned for moisture. And the liquid was completely purple, not a trace of blue left. It had vanished. How?

"What did you see, King Edmund?" his tutor asked as he grabbed the three containers. He spilled their contents into the sink to their left, built beside two more large wooden cabinets. Then he washed the flasks with clear water from the tap, and set them into the sink, mouths facing the metallic surface. And then walked to the small cabinets above his bed and rummaged through his contents again. He filled the small tube with the purple mixture again and placed if before Edmund, between the two remaining flasks. Edmund had been watching so keenly that he'd forgotten to answer the question, so Talus asked him again, "What did you see?"

"The colour disappeared," Edmund answered, "the purple liquid took over. But how? Why?"

Talus only smirked, shaking the tube gently until the colour darkened. "Now, I've shown you all you needed to see to know which flask has been poisoned. Can you deduce which one you should drink? If not, then I hope your brother won't kill me."

Edmund laughed. "You're not—you can't be serious," Edmund said, "There's a fifty-fifty chance that the flask I choose is the one that's been poisoned!" Edmund stood up. "I'm sorry, Talus, but I'm leaving. You should be grateful I haven't yelled for the guards yet."

Edmund ranted on as he walked to the door that led to the narrow corridor that would take him straight to the front door. But he heard the unmistakable sound of a bowstring being drawn back. Edmund halted. What a fool he'd been! He didn't even bring a sword! "Sit, King Edmund."

Oh, his tutor was mad!

Edmund took a deep breath and turned on his heels, unsurprised to find an arrow pointed at him. Talus gestured at the unoccupied chair opposite of him with his bow and Edmund reluctantly walked back and sat on it. "Now, make a deduction. And choose."

Edmund glanced at the two flasks. One blue and one red. Exactly the same quantity. Nothing to tell him! Nothing to deduce! "Talus, the High King will hunt you down if you kill me. You can't escape."

"But I'm not killing you. You'd be killing yourself if you choose the wrong one," Talus said, holding the bow steady above him. If the arrow was released, it would go straight through Edmund's right eye. Edmund shuddered. "You're allowed to use the tube's mixture."

Edmund looked up. He blinked. Looked down at the flasks and then the tube. And just like that, he knew! Edmund elatedly smiled and then poured one drop of the mixture into the red flask. The drop's colour rushed through the mixture but then the purple vanished in a second's time. And the red remained, undefiled and untouched. It had dominated. Edmund frowned. Then he spilled another drop into the blue flask, and this time, too, the blue dominated. Edmund gulped. This was not the result he'd expected. One of them should've turned purple. Hence indicating that that one hadn't been poisoned. But now Edmund felt as if he'd been fooled. He looked up at Talus. The faun pulled the string further back.

Edmund shut his eyes and breathed deep.

The blue one hadn't been poisoned. Because he wasn't dead. And the blue colour had been recessive. So, if the blue flask here hadn't turned purple, that would mean it had been poisoned. So, the red one!

"The purple colour appears not because of the poison's presence, but because of something else's," Talus said.

Edmund was back to square one. So, the poison doesn't affect the purple mixture. And now, he also knew that both the flasks lacked that important component. But. But! But what if the poison is what dissolved the component! That would mean both are poisoned. And he knew that wasn't true. Oh, Aslan!

"I didn't show you how the mixture affects the colour red."

Edmund gazed up the faun, blinking twice. He was right. Edmund could be sure of one thing. That if the blue mixture lacked the essential component to change colour, then the poison had had a hand in it. He could be sure that the blue _did_ , in fact, lacked that component, for it didn't turn purple. Now, he didn't know how the purple mixture worked on red colour! So, he couldn't be sure if it had been poisoned. But he _knew_ that blue one had been. And if one of the two was safe to drink, it was the red one! He grinned at the faun, and quickly took a sip of the red mixture. He gagged as the bitter liquid travelled down his throat. He thanked Aslan it didn't taste like blood.

Talus put down the bow on his bed. He clapped his hands. "Well done, King Edmund. But you're only half-correct." Edmund lifted both his brows. And the faun drank the blue mixture.

"No, wait!" Edmund yelled, jumping out of his chair. "Talus, why did you—"

"Not poisoned, Majesty," Talus said with a large grin. He then braided his long, orange hair, and continued, "What deductions did you make, King Edmund?"

"Uh, that the poison was what affected the component that changed the colour and—"

"No, no, young King, how can you determine that based on what you know?" Talus asked. "It's a simple rule, your Majesty: Unless you are sure, you are not correct."

"But—"

"Listen. Here's what you knew: That the blue mixture had not been poisoned. That the purple colour appears because of something's presence, not the poison, that is. That would mean that the blue mixture did _indeed_ have that component but the flasks in front of you did not. Now, how can you _possibly_ know which one of them had been poisoned based on that?"

"So, I wasn't—"

"This riddle was impossible to solve. And you just risked your life based on false deductions."

"But you said—"

"Your enemy will always lie to you, King Edmund. Today, we learned how the plant Lavias acts on sour and bitter liquids. The sour liquids contain Plothium and turn purple in Lavias' presence. The bitter liquids contain Prestum and turn green in Lavias' presence. Neutral substances like Water are not affected at all. Tomorrow, we shall learn how to _actually_ know if someone is trying to poison you, and how to break out of the situation if you can't know for sure," Talus said, glancing at the chair's legs. Edmund bent down.

A knife!

"I expect you to note it all down and remember what I've taught you. Go on now, young King. You need to sleep."

* * *

When Edmund finally reached his chambers, breathing heavily, eyes drooping with exhaustion, he found Peter wrapped in his blankets, snoring on his bed. Peter had insisted to share his room after Beruna, terrorized by nightmares, and he hadn't thought of moving back into his grand room ever since. Edmund's room was smaller than the one reserved for his brother, the High King. The walls were bathed in burgundy tapestries, paintings depicting the Victory of Beruna and Aslan's Resurrection. The two beds were put almost adjacent to each other, only a small table separated them. Peter's side of the room, the left side, was in a haywire disorder. The wardrobe was left open, clothes thrown on the ground, not hung as were to be. The desk was devoid of any contents, and the chair that should have been pushed beneath it was barely balancing on the windowsill, ready to topple down. Piles of documents had been pushed next to the bookshelf that was practically empty. Edmund sighed and turned back to his side of the room. Much better. The wardrobe was _closed_ and his tunics hung in a dignified manner in it. His bookshelf was large and didn't have any empty space left. Maybe he should ask for a personal library, one like Susan had. The door that led to the bathing chamber was open, filling the room with a soapy smell, and chilly wind, carrying water from the large pool inside it.

Edmund's eyes then turned to the desk. Oh, no. He'd forgotten!

He was supposed to go through the monthly production in the Western Mountains, and then sign the peace treaty—which _he_ had to carefully read because he knew none of his siblings had bothered. And then read the complaints that he would have to solve tomorrow! Oh, no, no, no! His vision was so blurry; he could hardly make out his brother's face when he turned onto his back. How was he to read!

But he took a deep breath and pulled back the chair and sat.

This was going to be a long night.

He started with the treaty.

* * *

Peter woke when the temperature grew cold. The curtains were fluttering and the balcony on the left was open. He shivered as he shoved aside the blankets and pulled back the doors of the balcony by their handles. His attention then turned to the chair dangling by the windowsill. He laughed and placed it beneath the desk. And now, he glanced back at his brother's bed, wanting to make sure he was alright. But the bed was empty, the bedding untouched and plain. Peter frowned in concern. And his eyes instinctively flew to Edmund's desk when he heard a light snore. "Oh, Ed," he said, shaking his head.

He walked to his little brother, gently pulled him up in his arms, frowning again to realize how light the ten-year-old was. Edmund never stirred. And Peter put him down on his bed. He pulled up the covers, tucking him beneath them. Peter sat beside his brother, and then eventually lied down, crawling beneath the covers, when he felt cold.

Kissing his brother's forehead, Peter pulled him closer. And he slept.

Tavas woke him minutes later; at least, that's what it felt like. His valet made his bed, brought some order to the room, and prepared a bath for him.

By the time he bathed, put on the tunic Tavas had pulled out for him, and came out of the bathing chambers to put on his armour, ready to head to the Training Grounds, Edmund was already gone. The bed made, and the documents he'd worked on overnight nicely placed on the desk in a neatly adjusted pile. Peter was drying his hair with a towel, waiting for Tavas to pull out his armour when the door opened.

Peter laughed. "You're late, Tirius. He's already gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Here's the simple explanation:**
> 
> When Talus poured the purple mixture of Lavias into the blue flask - which contained Plothium, since it is sour, it turned purple as sour substances do. Now, it wasn't poisoned. Hence, Edmund concluded that the mixture that does turn purple is not poisoned. But neither of them did.
> 
> So, Edmund kept scratching his head until Talus told him the mixture turns purple due something else's presence. Edmund naturally concluded the poison affected that component which changed their colour. However, that would mean both mixures were poisoned.
> 
> Then Talus reminded him that he hadn't shown him how the purple mixture affects red mixtures. Edmund beamed and drank from the red flask, thinking that since the blue didn't turn purple it must have been poisoned.
> 
> Talus said he was 'half-correct' so as to not dishearten him. He was absolutely wrong. But still, he got some brainly warm-up.
> 
> **Here's the nerdy explanation:**
> 
> Consider Prestum the OH- ion and Plothium the H+ ion. Then the Lavias is Litmus. Well, the rest is easy. Sour liquids (acids) contain the H+ ion and change to blue litmus to red. Bitter liquids (bases) contain the OH- ion and change red litmus to blue. Similar things, as you saw, happen with Plothium and Prestum.
> 
> And the mathematical logic! I personally adore Talus' line "If you're not sure, you're not correct."
> 
> Probability is a powerful tool. But it can trick you as well. Have you heard of the 'False Positive Paradox'? Though it doesn't really fit here, it perfectly conveys how concluding a truth on first glance can be bad. Fatal in this case. Edmund should have taken his time, but he is ten.
> 
> If anyone is interested, here's a video lesson from one of my favourite platforms, Ted-Ed: [click here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1csFTDXXULY)
> 
> **Author's note:**
> 
> Well, that was long. A really long ramble. But it's been a while I've had a scientific talk with somebody. And I know most people won't really care, but despite being a fantasy-lover, I have a deep craving for knowledge. I'm an engineering student and being locked in my house, studying with no companions, has been driving even me mad. I, a prime introvert! This is one of the reasons I've been writing so much. But updates are going to get slower and less frequent as the year 2020 approaches its end, since I've got a lot to go over, organise my life (I do that every year), and study harder.
> 
> But nothing to worry for now! I've got two complete, unpublished stories! And Black Justice is almost finished! Though editing the beta'd documents takes time. :p
> 
> Anyhow, see you all! Tell me if you thought something of this short lesson, or do not want math to invade your entertainment zone!
> 
> With love, and apologies for that long rant,  
> ~Pacifia


	3. Still Learning

_11th. Greenroof, 1000 - Third-day_

_CLANG!_

Edmund's shield landed - wham! - near the armoury's stone walls and he jumped to avoid Sinon's blade. Though the Centaur had given up his advantage of height by letting Edmund fight from a taller platform, he was still too fast and agile for Edmund. Too muscular and strong. And Edmund was intimidated. But he ducked to avoid getting a bruise from the wooden sword and let his rear foot thrust him forward as he made his offense, swinging his own practice sword—steel but blunt—at Sinon; he arched backwards gracefully and Edmund's sword uselessly cut the air. Before Edmund could withdraw his weapon, the Centaur clashed his wooden sword with Edmund's with so much force that he had to wonder why it didn't shatter into pieces.

The muscles in Edmund's wrist throbbed as it was twisted mercilessly. Edmund shrieked and let go of the hilt. The sword landed at Sinon's hoofs, and Edmund froze to feel the wood's coarse surface at his throat. But then Sinon withdrew his weapon and Edmund sighed, jumping off the small dais. He was still rubbing his wrist when he reached Orieus, followed closely by the Centaur he'd just sparred against.

He frowned once at the Wolves laughing at him.

"Arolos!" Orieus said, glaring at the pup and his brother, Euras. Both were the sons of Knight Baneclaw, their best scout, and Captain of the Wolves. The wolves flicking tails went still and they quieted, frowning. "Go fetch King Edmund some water from the armoury," Orieus commanded. And the wolves glanced once at each other before racing to the armoury only meters away, bordering the Southern Courtyard that was also Cair's Training Grounds. The armoury's walls had been painted black. It was a small building, home to Cair's best weapons and armours. The round room in the middle led to the stairs, curling into the ground, to the smithy. Edmund could almost hear the dwarfs' exasperated shouts.

Edmund sat down on the grass. All around him, fauns, centaurs, even minotaurs with their axes were dueling. And his voice was almost lost in the clangs! of clashing metal when he said, "I lost again, General."

A faun lost his balance when a thrust came with unexpected force, and he swiveled through the air before crashing into Edmund. Edmund groaned, and the faun, Sybil, gathered himself up, muttering so many apologies at once that Edmund didn't understand a word. Edmund sat up, crossing his legs.

"It's alright."

But Sybil went on apologizing. "Sybil! I'm fine!"

The faun looked up, still rubbing the back of his neck. "Sire, I'm sorry. It was Athelius' fault, you see."

"It was _not!_ " Athelius protested from behind him. And Edmund and Orieus looked past Sybil to find his brother approaching them, sheathing his sword expertly. Edmund laughed; Athelius reminded him of his brother, blond and arrogant, yet a spirit to admire. The two brother fauns were sons of Captain Matfil; and he was retiring soon. That meant one of the brothers would inherit his post in the army. They'd have to earn it of course. And right now, it seemed the older of the two was winning. "I apologize for my brother's _extreme_ clumsiness, Sire. It was only a push."

Edmund laughed again when Sybil snorted. "That's untrue."

"You can barely maintain your guard, Sybil! Of course, you couldn't maintain your balance!"

"Athelius!"

"Sybil!"

Orieus shook his head when the fauns began advancing on each other; Edmund frowned when Orieus stepped between them. He'd have liked a wrestling match. But he shrugged and listened in amusement as the General gave them a good scolding. Edmund began taking off his muddy armour. Sinon, whose presence Edmund had forgotten about, gave him the sword Edmund had forgotten to pick up. "You're getting better," Sinon assured, glancing once at the fauns, both bowing their heads in shame as Orieus told them they were still foals.

Edmund stripped off his chain mail. "Not as good as Peter. He's won against you, hasn't he? Without standing on a raised platform?"

"He's four years older than you, Majesty."

"Three," Edmund said with a scoff. Though the difference was closer to four. He took off his metal boots and wiggled his sore toes. Putting on his leather boots, he said, "Thank you, Sinon." The Centaur bowed and began to walk away, towards an interesting match unfolding between Kraten and Tabil, two new recruits in the army.

"Your father will hear of your immature behaviour! And in front of your King!" Orieus was saying, but Edmund glanced at the armoury in anticipation.

"Where are those wolves?"

And just then, a mass of entangled white and black fur stumbled out of the gates of the armoury, balancing a jug of water between two arguing heads. "I'll take it!"

"No, I will!"

"I will!"

"I!"

Edmund shook his head and stood up, dusting his mud-covered tunic. "Euras! Arolos! And now Wallus, too?" Edmund sprinted in the three wolves' direction and snatched the jug from them before they could protest. The pups jumped, Wallus the highest, taking advantage of his height and age. "Hey! Stop it!" Edmund said when Arolos bit his sleeve. Euras nuzzled his nose into his black fur, licking his hand. Edmund noticed it was bleeding.

"He bit me! Arolos bit me!" he said.

"Well, you bit me first!"

"Stop it!" Wallus suddenly said, surprising Edmund. "Or I'm going to bite you both. Father is looking for us. Wait till mother hears you bit him, Arolos," and with that Wallus ran north, out of the Traning Grounds. Arolos and Euras were quick to follow. Euras stopped once and twisted towards him. "King Edmund, thank you."

Edmund furrowed his brows. "No, thank _you_!" he tried but the wolves were already gone, dodging hoofs and swords as they ran out of the Courtyard, back towards the Castle. He took a sip of water from the jug, wondering if Orieus was done scolding Athelius and Sybil.

"And you, Athelius! A warrior does not boast about his skills!"

So, he guessed not. He drank until his stomach was full of water. And then leaned back, his arms supporting his weight. "Tired?" Edmund's head dropped back and an upside figure of his brother was staring at him, blocking the early rays of the sun.

Edmund sighed and stood up. "A little." He eyed his brother, dressed in the most formal tunic, and a thin chain mail. His boots were polished and hair combed. Was he getting ready for one of Susan's tea parties? Edmund rolled his eyes. "You're late. And Orieus is in bad mood," he said, glancing at the General and the fauns that still stood with their heads hung low.

"I was having my breakfast, Ed," Peter said, flourishing Rhindon out of its sheath. "Fancy a match? Or maybe not." Peter wrinkled his nose, glancing at his brother. "You're dripping with mud."

"That's what you'll look like after thirty minutes."

"That's why you don't bathe in the morning?"

"Precisely. But I'll fight you. Just let me get my armour."

"No, wait, Ed, there's no need," said Peter suddenly, stopping his brother with a hand on his shoulder. Edmund's brows wrinkled together and he gave him a look.

"Are you sure? With Rhindon? At least get a practice sword," Edmund said. And he turned to the sounds of approaching hooves. Orieus, along with the brother fauns, was staring at them, giving them a suspicious look. "Peter wants to spar without armour. And without practice swords," he added. Peter tried to deny it but Orieus spoke up.

"We shall see," the General said. "Take off your chain mail then, King Peter. Let this be a fair fight. Athelius, your sword." The faun blinked, looking at the General at the call of his name. Then he drew out his sword, admiring it for a second. He handed the blade to Orieus. And then Orieus to Edmund.

Edmund's hand dropped along with the sword and the blade dug into the ground. "It's too heavy!"

"It seems you have an audience, my Kings," Orieus said, glancing around. The Narnian soldiers had circled around them. Rhinsil, the Captain of the Minotaurs shouted, "Begin!" More cheers followed him. Even Sinon was encouraging this foolishness.

"But Orieus—" Peter said, concerned for his little brother. Edmund was still trying to pick up the sword without tumbling to the ground. "It's not—Oh!"

Peter staggered back when Edmund suddenly thrust towards, leaping off the ground to clash his sword with Rhindon.

 _CLANG!_ the swords sang as they met once again. Peter stepped back, shifting his weight on his rear foot as he struggled against his brother's heavy blade. Then he thrust forwards, grinning to see Edmund's small figure stumble back. Peter approached kept his side guarded with his right arm and sword, but Edmund had left an opening. One that would be too hard to resist if he'd been facing an enemy. But he would not hurt his little brother. So, he circled him, sword still protecting him. Edmund had quickly regained his guard as well. The muscles in his wrist had popped out as he tried to balance the sword. This match would leave him sore for days.

Edmund leaped back when Peter swung Rhindon at him, clearly unintended to even touch him. Edmund frowned, feeling insulted that his brother would think he couldn't defend himself. He'd show him. He adjusted his hold on the hilt and then swung it above his head once, too quick for Peter to take advantage of the opening he'd left, and then thrust forwards, sword pointed directly at Peter's chest. Peter only to had to step to his left by an inch and Edmund missed him entirely.

Then he felt a sharp blow to his elbow, disabling his right arm. Edmund dropped the sword and let out a small squeak with Peter kicked his knee, forcing him to the ground. He dropped ahead, making dust spiral up. He blew sand out of his face.

"Edmu—"

But his voice was cut off with Orieus' cry of, "Get up or admit defeat!"

The crowd cheered for the High King. Everyone except Orieus and Peter was shouting that they had a clear victor.

"Ed?"

Edmund pulled himself up, propping his upper body on trembling arms. His elbow was screaming in agony, and his knee was weak. But he stood up, swaying. He bent down to pick his sword, arm braced for its sheer weight this time. Then he positioned himself, placing his right foot ahead, in line with his sword. Peter shook his head, but Edmund smiled to see his brother's eyes twinkle with pride.

Peter made the first move this time, slashing the sword at Edmund. Edmund blocked the attack.

_Clang!_

The sound was sharper and lower. Edmund had remembered to maintain his guard this time as he moved back and began circling again. The swords met once again when Edmund swung his sword at Peter's feet, only to have it blocked by Rhindon; Edmund's arm twinged. Peter drew a circle in the air with the two swords, forcing Edmund to rotate his arm with him as he continued the motion. Edmund tried to counter the force but no avail. When the swords were low, near the ground, Peter swung Edmund's sword aside with a final thrust. Edmund was ashamed to have let go of his sword that easily.

Peter slashed Rhindon at Edmund's feet, making him jump, and then lose his balance. He staggered, backing as Peter advanced on him. Peter swung his sword at Edmund's feet again. This time the blade caught the boot and Edmund was cruelly thrown to the earth.

His skull collided with the ground.

"Edmund!"

"No, stop," Orieus' voice said.

But Edmund only groaned, seeing pink stars. "Orieus, let me go! He's hurt!"

"He's stronger than you think," came the confident reply.

Edmund didn't feel too confident at the moment. He felt numb. He groaned again when dull pain shot through his skull. "Edmund? Ed, come on!" Edmund's hands drowned in the sand as he searched for his sword. There was no point. It was too far. "Ed!" Edmund rolled onto his chest, screwing his eyes shut when the pain came back. Then he pulled himself off the ground with much effort. Instantly, he stumbled back, ready to fall again.

"Edmund!"

But strong hands grabbed him, steadying him. Edmund opened his eyes. The brightest light filtered in and he blinked a few times before he found Sinon's face. "Thank you," he muttered. And then stood up straight, trying to hide his embarrassment and flushed cheeks. Sinon then unsheathed his long sword. He offered it to him.

"It's lighter than most swords, Majesty."

Edmund nodded and took the sword from him. He took his position before Peter. Peter looked extremely concerned.

"Ed, we don't have to continue. It's not a fair fight," Peter was saying as they circled once again. Edmund just focused on his manner, how he maintained his guard, how he used his rear foot to increase the force of his thrusts, how he could see Edmund's attacks before he even initiated them. "Edmund, at least let me get a practice sword. I don't want to hurt you again."

Edmund went silently this time, unthreatening, steps cat-light. Slowly, he covered the distance between them. And when he was close enough, _CLANG!_

Peter had stopped him this time, too. Like he'd seen it. How? It didn't matter. He would beat him. He. Would. Beat. Him.

Edmund slashed his sword rapidly at Peter and Peter leaned back every time it came close, avoiding the blade's tip by mere inches. Edmund never caught him. Then he thought cleverly. His brother would anticipate another slash, not a thrust. Edmund readied his rear foot, shifting his weight on his right foot. And then he leaped. Peter moved right this time.

Edmund tasted sand again.

Peter shook his head. "Eddie, really, you can't beat me. Just like I can't beat you in chess. Stop this nonsense."

"High King Peter!" the crowd cheered. Edmund blew out sand from his mouth. The clouds of dust slowly receded and he saw Orieus, leaning on his long sword, watching him, trusting in him. Edmund mustered up all the strength he had. He stood up again. For Orieus. For Sinon. For Sybil, to tell him big brothers aren't always the best. And for himself.

"I'll beat you," Edmund said, spitting out sand.

"Ed, you can't," Peter said as the brothers circled again. "Please stop."

"No."

And he jumped. A mid-air turn, and a wavering slash at Peter's neck. Peter barely ducked in time. He hadn't seen it coming. "Edmund, one of us could die."

"You would never hurt me, would you, Peter?" Edmund mocked and then made another unexpected blow at Peter's feet.

Peter didn't have time enough to jump. He skittered back, hopping like a helpless squirrel. Edmund didn't give him time to recover. _Whoosh!_ the air said as Edmund slashed his sword at his brother again. The sword jabbed lightly at Peter's shoulder. "Edmund!" Peter shrieked, though his thick tunic had saved him from the worst damage.

Edmund slashed at his chest. No time to recover, regain his position and guard. Peter arched back. And again. And again. And again.

Until he'd had enough.

_CLANG!_

Rhindon had already thrown away Edmund's sword by the time Peter stood up straight. Edmund took small steps back when Peter advanced. Peter yanked him forward by his wrist, knocked the air out of his lungs with a light kick to the stomach, and then hit his back with his elbow to once again throw him to the hard ground. Edmund groaned and then stiffened to feel Rhindon's tip at his neck.

"Yield," Peter said, clearly angered. "Edmund, yield!"

Edmund blinked away tears, seeing through his blurry vision, the nod Orieus gave him. "I yield," he murmured. And Peter stepped back.

Edmund was quickly sitting upright on the ground, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

"Ed?"

"I'm alright," he said, sniffing.

"Sybil, take him to our room, will you?" Peter said, sheathing his sword.

Seeing Sybil approach him, Edmund growled, "I'm fine!"

Edmund stormed out of the Training Grounds.

* * *

Edmund had managed to stop crying by the time he reached his room. Edmund's valet, Tirius, had already prepared a hot bath for him, fresh clothes had been laid on the bed. Tirius helped him limp in. His knee still hurt. The faun ushered him to Edmund's bed, gently pushing him down onto the mattress.

Then taking Edmund's boots off, he asked, "Trouble in the Training Grounds, Sire?"

Edmund thanked the faun when his boots were off and then said, "Where's Tavas?"

Tirius asked him to pull up his arms and helped him strip off his shirt. "I don't know, Majesty. Perhaps helping the Queens to prepare the Great Hall for today's court hearings. They are to be held in two hours."

Edmund stood up, rubbing his arms in the cold. He cursed under his breath. Court Hearings. He should get ready for them. He walked to the bathing chambers, and as he shut the door, he said, "Ask Tavas to move Peter's stuff back to his room."


	4. Bickering Dwarfs

When Edmund came out of the bathing chamber, rubbing his head vigorously with a towel, one of the two beds was gone. So was Peter's desk, his wardrobe, and the petty bookshelf he could never fill. It was quickly done and Edmund asked Tirius to thank Tavas for his service. He began to walk out of his room, to the kitchens for some late breakfast, but Tirius stopped him.

"Sire, your boots."

Edmund glanced at his feet. His bare feet. He shook his head and took his leather—not covered in mud—boots from his valet. "Thank you, Tirius. You just saved me from a good scolding from Queen Susan," he said, putting on his boots. Then he headed towards the kitchen.

It had taken a good six months to get used to Cair's vast corridors and too large rooms and its unending vicinity. It had taken even longer to remember which corridor led to which room. Edmund, his brother, and his sisters' rooms were located on the second floor, the West Wing. The Eastern Wing was reserved for more formal occasions, like tea. Edmund rolled his eyes. The Northern Wing was the Political Wing, where all the councils and meetings with foreign dignitaries were held, and where Peter discussed his war plans with Orieus—in his study. Edmund rolled his eyes again. His fool of a big brother wouldn't let him accompany him on campaigns. And today, he saw why. Edmund wiped his eyes again. He reached the end of the stretched corridor and scurried down the flight of stairs that would take him to the West Wing's Kitchens.

Outside the Kitchens, he air smelled of pie. Edmund hurried in, following the inviting smell. The Kitchens were divided into four sections, separated by thick, stone walls. Edmund had just entered the baking section. He had closed his eyes in order to _taste_ the smell and savour its richness. So, he was startled when he bumped into a thick, short figure. Lina's eyes were fixed on her nose at first, grey irises moving to the corner of her eyes. Then the she-badger looked up at him, clapping her paws.

"Majesty! Come for breakfast, I assume. Oh, at least you're clean this time. I don't like mud in my Kitchen, you know."

Edmund smiled. "Of course not, Lina. Now, I smell pie. Will I be getting some?"

"I baked it for you especially, my King, when I heard what happened in the Grounds. Rhinsil told me, you see. He said your brother wished to speak with you," as she said this, she was leading him through the narrow gaps between metallic tables, lodged with sharp knives, loaves of bread, baskets full of fresh fruits, and mouth-watering chocolate!

Edmund smiled at Lina again, but she couldn't see him. So, he said, "Well, I'm not speaking with _him._ "

Lina halted, turned, and said, "A rivalry. Ah. Common with brothers, you see, lad. Now, come." She whirled around again and they walked in silence until Edmund squealed in delight and seated himself on the bench, already digging a fork into the pie.

"Majesty!" Lina scolded. "Some manners and etiquette! Like your sister taught you!"

"I'm hungry, Lina," he replied with his mouth full, words almost indistinct. "Mmmmm."

* * *

Edmund was late. His brother and sisters were already seated on their thrones. And they were wearing their crowns. Unlike the fourth, forgetful sovereign. Edmund cursed and moved past the line of Centaurs. He climbed to the dais and sat on the throne beside his brother. Edmund never looked at him. Neither did Peter. He'd been to their room then. Edmund smirked.

And then Susan said, "Let them in."

And the two Centaur guards standing beside the large, northern doors opened them. Two dwarfs entered, grumbling, arguing with each other even as they moved ahead.

"It's my father's, Braschen!"

"Our clan has had control over those mountains before you were even born, Hackret!"

Edmund giggled along with Lucy. Hackret was the taller of the two Dwarfs and had a shorter beard, grey from places but mostly black. Braschen was obviously older. His white beard was brushing past the ground as he continued walking ahead. The Dwarfs grunted simultaneously and then began arguing loudly again.

"Enough!" Peter roared. His voice brought absolute silence to the room. Then breathed out, calming himself. Edmund gulped, seeing just how mad he'd made his brother. Their sisters noticed the same. And Lucy leaned forwards in her throne, giving him a questioning look. Edmund only shrugged. Peter then said in a much calmer voice, "State your case."

Edmund already knew their case, so he didn't bother listening to the Dwarfs' babblings. Hackret was born in the Roon Montains, North of Lantern Waste. His clan, the Racavi Clan, was dying as Winter approached and the River Racavi began freezing. Without water, their smithy's production had declined, and their families were starving without sufficient crop production. And Braschen's clan, the Varaic Clan, was located South of the Shuddering Wood, at the foot of the small mountains—they were hills really, but contained many metals. The River Rush provided them with an all-season supply of water. And Hackret was now demanding that the Varaic clan surrender their smithy to them, his claims based on a single letter he had found a week ago in an old chest that belonged to his father.

"The letter, Majesty," Galanus, the Centaur, their State Official said, handing Peter the said letter. Peter nodded at him and Galanus took his place beside Lucy's throne. Edmund looked to his right. Agatone stood there with his sword sheathed and trumpet in hand, like Galanus.

Peter began reading the letter aloud: "My father entrusted me with his dear home, the Var Mountains. Our clan flourished and grew even after his death. The years went by and the time was a merry one. No one ever slept hungry. No one ever fought. And our great King presented us with gifts for our valued service. But with the start of the Winter, our smithy died, buried deep in snow. We fled to the Western Mountains. At least, the ones that Jadis couldn't bewitch. When our sons that had turned to the evil side convinced us that Narnia was safe for Dwarfs and the Queen—the false Queen—required our services, we were overjoyed. We could go home again. But it was you that had taken our smithy, made it your own, even though it wasn't yours to claim. You, a banished spirit, came back to steal! You, a tainted dwarf, forced us to flee north, away from our River Rush! From our home! Now, years later, when the tyranny of the Witch is over, I write this letter. Give us back what is ours, you foolsaer! Or there will be a war! Signed, Hibret."

"He could never send it, Majesty. He died, you see, six months ago," Hackret said, tears welling up. "If we had known earlier, we surely would have started a war. But my wife convinced me to take the matter to court. For violence rarely ever produces favoured results." He wiped his red nose with his hand. Edmund wrinkled his nose. Braschen _humphed_ and turned away from the Dwarf. There was a long, sharp silence when Hackret began weeping quietly.

Edmund wondered if he should tell them already.

But Lucy softly spoke up, "Peter, I think Hackret is right." Edmund knew her decision had been affected by the sympathy she held for weeping dwarf. But he let his siblings' come to a conclusion on their own; he wanted to hear what they had to say.

Then, Susan said, "But Lu, we can't just tell the Clan Varaic to leave their home."

Peter nodded at Susan. "'Tis true. Then what do you suggest, Su?"

"Sire, if I may present my side of the case please," said Braschen suddenly, urgently. Without seeking further permission, he said, "It happened thus, after my father's death only days ago, I was made Chief of our Clan. We were only beginning harvesting for Winter when this liar attacked our village!"

Peter looked at Hackret suspiciously. "You attacked them? But I thought violence cannot provide favoured results."

"But I didn't, Sire! I came with a few of my trusted friends. We came to state our case! They attacked us first!" Hackret barked, looking accusingly at Braschen.

"Lies. All lies!" Braschen growled back. The two Dwarfs turned to each other, breathing heavily, red faces burning with rage.

Peter held up a hand. "Stop! If you inflict violence upon each other, it will just make matters worse. Kraten, stand between them," Peter ordered the Centaur. Kraten left his position near the Eastern Doors and parted the two Dwarfs with his hands. Then with a flicking tail, he stood like a tall wall between them. "Now, we've heard all you have to say. Let us discuss. And we'll tell you if we can arrive on a decision. If not now, then some time later. You must be patient." Peter turned to his left. Edmund rolled his eyes; he refused to ask for his help, or even his opinion as the Chief Justice? "Susan?"

Susan leaned towards her elder brother. Lucy leaned closer to Susan, listening keenly. "We can't displace Braschen's Clan from their home. But we also can't refuse justice to Hackret. The letter is proof enough. If we are to undo the injustices of the White Witch, we have to help him reclaim his land."

"That's why we have to help Hackret!" Lucy exclaimed.

Peter gulped. "But we can't. Not without taking the Varaics' land from them."

Susan cleared her throat. She looked past Peter and at Edmund who was humming nonchalantly. "Ed? What do you have to say?"

Edmund lifted his brows, grinning lopsidedly. "Oh, I thought Peter doesn't want my help."

Peter rolled his eyes. "No, we don't," he said, pushing Susan back. But she leant forward again.

"Ed!"

Edmund huffed. "Fine." He stood up, clapping his hands. "We've arrived at a decision."

"What? No, we haven't. Edmund!" Peter exclaimed.

Edmund turned back. "Peter, it's time for you to hush. You can resume your post, Kraten," he told the Centaur. Kraten bowed and stomped back to the empty space between two Centaurs. Braschen and Hackret exchanged glances, then scoffed at each other in exasperation, and turned away with two _humphs._ Edmund thought one of them might have sprained their neck muscles with those rapid snaps of their heads. "Now, you two should probably learn to be friends."

"Him? Never!" they both said simultaneously, and the faint laughter echoed through the Great Hall. Edmund smiled to hear even the grave Agatone laugh at the peculiar manner of the Dwarfs.

"You two are cousins. Related by blood."

Susan and Lucy giggled when the two Dwarfs stepped away from each other. Peter was still too mighty high to be amused. Braschen eyed Hackret. Edmund knew he saw the resemblance. They were both red dwarfs, with thick brows, and thin lips, and a crooked nose. Hackret stared back, noticing the same features in his nemesis. "You-!" they both exclaimed suddenly, jumping.

Edmund laughed and turned to his brother. "Give me the letter, Peter, will you?" He didn't wait for a response but simply snatched the paper from his brother's hand. Peter rolled his eyes and glowered at him, settling back in his throne. "It says 'a banished spirit' and 'a tainted dwarf'. Your father, Braschen, was exiled from the Var Clan by your grandfather for trading with the Ralk Clan, a prominent enemy of your grandfather. That means your father took the Var Clan and made it the Varaic clan." Edmund skimmed through the letter again. "And here! A foolsaer! It's a Narnian word for a 'brother fool'. An old word, however. And that means…"

"That they're cousins and have equal right over the land!" Lucy finished; running to him. She embraced him. "Oh, Ed! You're brilliant!" Susan laughed. And Peter left the room. Edmund frowned after him. And then Lucy released him, gathering her skirts as she ran to the Dwarfs. She hugged them as well, startling the Dwarfs. "Oh, Braschen! Hackret! You're going to be friends! We're all going to be friends!"

They both grimaced.

The Court Hearings went on for four more hours.

Without the High King.


	5. Brother Lessons

Edmund would finally get the time to stretch his legs. He crossed the small garden between the East and West Wings, and smiled at an Oak Dryad as he passed by. Then he went up the dark stairs, the path illuminated by only lanterns since sunlight didn't reach there. He chose them for it was a shorter path. And then reaching the right side of the corridor of his chambers, Edmund stopped to see Tavas hovering outside Peter's room.

"Tavas!" he exclaimed, running towards the faun. Tavas bowed; Edmund returned the gesture. "What is it?"

"High King Peter hasn't left his room, Sire. In four hours."

Edmund furrowed his brows, glancing at the brown door of his brother's room. "You mean he's been sulking in there ever since—Do you think he's mad at me? For moving his stuff back?"

"Not mad, Sir," Tavas said, shaking his head. "Just guilty. And scared."

"Scared? Tavas, that's—"

"I've heard him sob," Tavas said. And then came an ear-splitting sound of crash! And then a following sound of something breaking. "He might be a little angry too," Tavas admitted. Then before Edmund could stop him, he knocked on the door. "Go in, Majesty. I'll leave you."

Edmund blinked. "Tavas—" But he was already gone.

The door opened. A golden head poked out. Blue eyes judged him. And then the door shut again. Edmund sighed and knocked on the door. His brother growled, "Leave me alone! Aren't you supposed to be solving mysteries in the Great Hall? Or maybe having Tavas move my things to the roof! Go away!"

"Peter, you're acting childish."

"And you were _very_ mature kicking me out of your room! You could have just told me you didn't want me there! I would've left."

"Pete, I have an anatomy lesson with Demiera. So, just open up so we can sort this out quickly."

No reply came for some time. Edmund's heart broke to hear a sob. Then Peter said, "Just leave. Please just leave me alone."

"Pete—"

_"Leave!"_

Edmund swallowed, blinking repeatedly until his vision cleared. "Maybe you can show-off your skills against your little brother tomorrow again! You'd like that, wouldn't you, Peter? Just a show-off!" Edmund growled, kicking the brown door, it shook around its hinges. "I hate you!"

And Edmund raced to his own room, determined to have some rest before his next lesson.

* * *

The Healing Wing's marble walls shone again as Edmund skittered down the stairs and hopped onto the ground of the lower Eastern Courtyard. He had his notebook and feathered quill in hand. The pages were vellum and it had been bound together by a rich silken thread only produced in Southern Archenland. Edmund liked learning about anatomy and ever since his lessons had started—two months ago—he'd kept careful notes. His tutor, Demiera, was a quiet Centauress. And she rarely ever left the Healing Wing. But her company was enjoyable at times. Most of the time, actually. Edmund turned left when he entered through the front gate of the Healing Wing.

The eastern part was reserved for medicinal purposes, with Talus as their head. Demiera was the Chief Healer. She tutored Peter, Susan, and Edmund. Each twice a week. Lucy was still too young. The long corridor Edmund was trotting through ended in a large room with five cots lined parallel to the walls. All were thankfully empty. And in the back corner, there was a large table, reserved for demonstrations. Edmund glanced at Demiera. He dropped his notebook.

"Euras!" he yelled, racing to the end of the room. The pup was gasping on the table as his two older brothers jumped around the table, desperate to reach their brother. Edmund looked at Demiera, rubbing Euras' neck to comfort him. "What happened?"

Before the Centauress could say anything, Arolos said, "We were playing in the woods, King Edmund! And he tripped over a root! Yes, he tripped! And then he wouldn't stop crying. He said he'd hurt his arm. So, we brought him here. Oh, could you not tell our mother and father, King Edmund. Father would be angry. And mother would fuss. And cry. And—"

"Hush, Arolos!" Wallus said, flicking his tail. "Oh, King Edmund, please, will he be alright? Demiera won't tell us."

Edmund looked at the Centauress once again; she was examining Euras' arm. "He'll be fine," she said. "Just a broken bone."

_Crack!_

Euras screamed. Edmund, Arolos, and Wallus initially startled back. And then the pups jumped up again, worried for their brother. Edmund rubbed Euras' neck, burying his fingers in his soft, black hair. "What did you do?" Edmund asked Demiera who was wrapping Euras' arm in a thick white bandage.

"Bones heal quickly in foals. It only needed a little mending," she said, tying a knot with the two free ends of the bandage. Then she lifted Euras in her arms—the pup had fainted. And gestured at Wallus. Wallus nodded and sat down, allowing Demiera to settle him onto his back. "Take him back home. And tell your father the truth, ja? Off with you then." And the two pups raced out of the room with their brother, and then disappeared out of the corridor.

"He'll really be fine?" Edmund asked the Centauress as she gestured at him to follow her. Edmund was about to do the same when he remembered his notebook. He made a dash, grabbed it, and hurried back, jogging. Demiera led him out the back door, through another dark corridor. Edmund didn't know of this path. Edmund started when Demiera answered his question after so long.

"The bone was cracked from between; I joined the two pieces. With enough heat, it'll reattach," she said. Edmund blinked.

"And for Sons of Adam?" Edmund asked, clutching a little more tightly to his notebook.

"Sons of Adam are fragile, Majesty. If you or your brother was to break a bone, it'd require bedrest and bitter potions to heal you," she said, her tail flicking. The Centauress then looked at him and laughed to see the fright on his face. "But I'm sure you'd be too careful for that to happen." Edmund thought about his brother and decided he couldn't be sure he wouldn't have a broken bone by tomorrow. He smiled grimly at his tutor and blinked when at the black wall they stopped in front of.

"Demiera?"

"I've taught you everything a first-year anatomy student can learn."

"In two months?" Edmund asked, still blinking at the black wall. There was no path.

"Indeed," Demiera said. "That notebook. Hold on to it. You'll need help."

"What for?" Edmund asked, gulping, sweating now. He did not like Demiera's tone.

"Now, we test what you've learnt."

And the lanterns were abruptly blown off, leaving Edmund in utter blackness. "Demiera!" No answer came and Edmund staggered back until he found the wall. He curled into it, clutching to his notebook, holding it over his heart. What was going on? He closed his eyes, not that it had any effect. He prayed. Until the support he was leaning against suddenly retreated back and Edmund fell, spraining his already hurt elbow. He groaned. Or he thought he did. It was someone else. Someone behind him. He turned, blinking to allow his pupils to adjust to the dim yellow light coming from the lantern hanging in the middle of the room. And then his eyes fell onto the gasping figure in the corner.

It couldn't be.

"Peter!"

He struggled to his feet, slipping numerous times on the greasy ground. But he somehow made his way to his brother. He fell before him. "Peter?"

"I told them not to. That you wouldn't…" Peter's eyes began drooping, head limping ahead.

"No, hey! Peter! Pete!"

But he was asleep.

Sudden light shone through the room when more lanterns were lit. Edmund glanced around. The room was almost completely empty. A greyish table in the middle, some tools laid on it. There was no door. Edmund's breathing became erratic and heavy. "Demiera!"

"He has been injected with snake's venom, Edmund. Your task is to keep him alive," a faint voice echoed through the walls. Edmund panicked.

"Keep him alive? Demiera, this isn't funny! Demiera!"

There came no answer, and Edmund buried his face in his hands. No. Not this. No. Please, no.

WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HIS TUTORS?!

Keep him alive. He had to keep him alive. How? Wake him! Edmund looked up at his unconscious brother. He unbuttoned his shirt, took off his boots, and loosened his silk belt. This would slow down his heartbeat and his blood-flow. Hence, keep the venom from spreading. Then he tapped his cheek, running his hand through his damp hair. "Come on, Peter. Come on!"

Edmund couldn't risk slapping him, afraid he'd increase his heartrate. He closed his eyes, trying to remember. He shook himself, trying to calm his nerves, and then opened his brother's mouth, flexing his jaw. "Peter!" He sighed and pressed his thumb onto his tongue, pushing it down until he could see his throat. Nothing happened for some seconds. But then Peter gagged and coughed, as if coming alive. He opened his eyes just enough to reveal the china-blue colour through narrow slits. "Peter!"

"It's spinning," he choked out.

Edmund, satisfied that Peter would not be going back to sleep, clapped his shoulder with both his hands. "I'll be right back, okay? Everything's fine. You're fine."

And he scurried to the grey table in the middle of the room. A lantern hanging directly above him illuminated the various items laid in front of him. All useless! A knife. A leather belt. A stone. A bowl? Some herbs. A jug of water. And a thin tube? Nothing to help his brother! He smacked his head. Stupid! He dashed back to his brother. He grabbed his notebook, shushing his groaning brother. He flipped through the pages. Useless. Useless. Useless! But then he saw it. And there! Azath's cure.

The drawings Edmund had made depicted a Bear making some sort of paste, beating the herbs with a wooden stick. Beside the figure, he'd noted down the names of the herbs, all had descriptions written under them. Edmund thanked his past self. Platis' leaves. Resro's flowers. Kortel's root fibers. And water. Edmund kissed his brother's forehead, telling him he'd be alright. And then rushed back to the table. He spotted the leaves. The flowers. The fibers! He was in the right direction. But what he would have to do—

What if he failed?

Edmund gave his subconscious a good scolding and quickly threw the ingredients into the bowl. He began beating them with the stone, adding small amounts of water at times. Peter was still groaning behind him. And that reassured Edmund. He stirred the paste with the knife and added more water until he had himself a green, liquid mixture. He cleaned the knife with the remaining water and grabbed the belt and tube and bowl with the mixture. He ran to his brother. This was going to be tricky.

He strapped the leather belt on his arm, tightening it until he could see his veins. And then he picked the knife, breathing heavily. Oh, Aslan. He wished his shaking hands would still. The riveous vein—the thickest vein in the human body, but not nearly as thick as the thinnest artery—had popped out. Edmund breathed heavily. He could do this. The knife's tip hovered over his brother's wrist.

Oh, Aslan!

_Come on, come on, come on!_

He pressed the knife onto his skin. He would fail! He knew he couldn't! He wasn't skilled enough!

Aslan!

"Stop!" said a voice from behind them. And Edmund twisted to see Demiera galloping towards them.

"Wha—what?" Edmund said between breaths.

"You've done well, King Edmund," she said.

"But…" He turned to his brother. Peter had drifted off again. Demiera knelt beside them both. She lifted Peter's small body—to Demiera, at least—easily and they began walking out of the room. The room in which doors magically appear, Edmund thought.

"It was only Sorontia that I gave him, King Edmund. Never any poison."

Edmund stopped. Demiera walked two steps ahead before halting as well. She turned to her King. "Are you telling me you terrified me that my brother was going to die for no reason?"

"It was a test. How well you can think under pressure. Very well," she praised, adjusting her hold on Peter when he nuzzled closer. Edmund smiled subconsciously. When they reached the demonstration room, Demiera said, "Your older brother and sister failed this test."

"And I passed?" Edmund asked as Demiera settled Peter onto one of the cots. She tucked him in.

"Yes."

* * *

Peter woke an hour later—Demiera had given him Relium that neutralized the effects of the sleeping drug, Sorontia. Edmund didn't think he'd seen him for he would've scoffed at him. Peter merely sat against the wall attached to the cot, glancing around, befuddled. Peter didn't see him until he coughed—very awkwardly. As Expected, Peter huffed at him and turned away, still sticking to childish then. But when Edmund's lower lip began trembling, Peter turned to him, blinking. "Ed?"

Edmund threw himself at him, catching him by surprise for they both almost fell off the cot. But when Peter regained his balance and his arms found their way around Edmund's shaking shoulders, he said, "You don't hate me anymore, I take it?"

Edmund sniffed, nuzzling his face into his brother's neck. "Not funny. Not funny at all." He sniffed again. "Demiera told me she injected you with snake's venom. I thought I'd fail. I thought you'd die," he whispered, and his hair must have tickled Peter for he laughed.

"Ed, you didn't really think she'd let me die?" Peter asked, weaving his fingers into his brother's long hair.

Edmund pulled back. "Well, at least I passed! Demiera told me you and Susan failed."

Peter rubbed his neck sheepishly. "Yes, well, because we thought you were going to die. Susan got as far as filtering your blood."

"Filtering my what?" Edmund asked, not understanding the words.

"I refused to leave your side. You kept calling my name."

"Filtering my what?" Edmund repeated when Peter didn't give him a straight answer. Peter laughed, playfully clapping his shoulder. Then he ruffled a hand through his hair. The tousled mop now probably had unsolvable knots! Ugh.

"We couldn't let you know. That would just ruin the whole surprise!" Peter exclaimed. Edmund rolled his eyes. Then he sighed.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm really, _really_ sorry. You said we should stop and I didn't listen to you. I wanted to beat you." Edmund looked down. "And I'm sorry I told Tavas to move your stuff back." He looked up again, eyes twinkling. "You could move back in! Oh, please do, Peter!"

Peter smiled. "No, Edmund." Edmund frowned, biting his lip. "Come here," and Peter pulled him close by his right wrist. "Sorry," said Peter when Edmund squeaked. His wrist's muscles were still sore. When his brother was securely tucked under blankets beside him, wrapped in Peter's arms, he said, "You're turning eleven in two weeks."

"That would make me only _three_ years younger than you," Edmund said, grinning.

Peter laughed. "For two months." Edmund frowned again. "But what I mean to say is that I think you're responsible enough to have your own room."

Edmund looked at his brother with a brow raised. "Peter, you're forgetting that _you_ moved into _my_ room because you had nightmares after Beruna. I was always responsible! Lucy's had her own room ever since our coronation!"

"Because Lucy's a girl. Girls are more responsible."

"Susan told you that, didn't she?" Edmund asked, giggling.

Peter put a finger over his lips. "Shh." He laughed. "But you'll probably be sleeping in my room more often than yours."

Edmund smiled guiltily. "Hey!" Edmund said when Peter's hand crawled over his stomach, tickling him. "Pete, stop!" But he was laughing uncontrollably now. Never stopping to breathe. "Peter!" But Peter kept tickling him, making him slip down to the cot. "Alright! Alright! I admit defeat!"

"There you go," Peter said, finally withdrawing his hands. He kissed his brother's forehead. "I love you, Ed. And I'm sorry, too."

"I love you, too, Peter," came the sweet reply.

"But I thought you hated me."

Edmund whacked his brother's face with a pillow. It fell. And Peter spit out a feather. Edmund laughed and was too quick for Peter to catch him before he had slid off the cot. He grabbed his notebook and quill from the small table beside the cot and ran out of the room.

"Ed!"

"History lesson with Achemus!" Edmund shouted back as he jogged back towards Cair.


	6. Achemus

_11th. Greenroof, 1000 - Third-day_

Achemus was the most astute and sharp-witted Centaur Edmund had had the pleasure to meet. Sagacious and wise were two other words to describe him. And the sheer amount of knowledge always allowed him to remain one step ahead of his enemies—he had a lot of them, mostly jealous apprentices, some other Centaurs that claimed Achemus had stolen their wives and courters. He was, surprisingly, Demiera's younger brother, almost fifty years younger. The two had nothing in common. Demiera was grave and calm. And Achemus—well, Achemus was a spirit Edmund heartily admired. Achemus was sly and cunning. And acted childish whenever he got the chance. He _was_ a child in reality. Only fifty years old. Many said he wasn't nearly old or experienced enough to tutor the King of Narnia. To give the readers an idea, he would be eighteen years old if he were a Son of Adam.

Achemus tutored Edmund in the Great Library of Cair. It was situated on the third floor of the West Wing, in the same corridor as Susan and Lucy's rooms. Edmund had jogged all the way there, and was erratically gasping by the time he reached the Great Library's door. The steel handles were almost as long as his arm, and yet Edmund took some seconds to find them, grab them, and creak them open. The lower end of the door brushed past the marble as it slowly opened.

The Great Library was about twice as large as the Great Hall. Shelves and shelves of books were lined and the queue didn't end until the very end of the Library. It was divided into four sections. And the last one was restricted for everyone but the Cair's Council members. Edmund thought he should call the whole Library restricted with Sunstone fussing over his books and growling at anyone who dared put a book on the wrong shelf. Edmund wrinkled his nose.

The Library had two floors, yet no ceiling. It is hard to explain it on paper, but briefly, a wide strip of tiles, lodged with more shelves and some benches had been built around the walls. The top was dome-shaped, glassy and sunny, transparent surfaces painted, depicting ancient times.

Edmund's eyes flew to the small dais in the eastern corner, built under the curling stairs. It was where Achemus tutored him. But the desk was empty today. Edmund furrowed his brows. Achemus was known to be late. He was late almost every day without breaking the streak. But today, Edmund was late himself. By half an hour! Maybe Achemus had left? Edmund grabbed the notebook from his personal desk adjacent to Susan's, which was adjacent to the door. He drummed his quill's blunt side onto his notebook, walking to the side of the dais.

"Achemus?"

"Oh. Oh, no! Oh, my Allia, that's all the time we have!"

Edmund was already jogging towards the shelf beside the dais. He peeked, leaning ahead. He _really_ wished he hadn't. His eyes widened and in a fraction of a second, he turned away, covering his ears, singing the Narnian Lullaby Lucy had taught him. Good thoughts. Pure thoughts. He wasn't defiled. He _hoped_ Achemus wasn't living a debauched lifestyle. Demiera would hear of this. Edmund grinned.

A hand tapped his shoulder.

"Ahh!" Edmund startled back. He breathed heavily. "Achemus! What is wrong with you? Was that a dryad?" Edmund asked, leaning to his left side to get a glimpse. But Achemus straightened him.

"That doesn't concern you, King Edmund."

"It does! I had to see you—see you—"

"It was just a small kiss," Achemus said, forehead creasing.

"But you're a Centaur!"

"I'm a _young_ Centaur. And I'm not Orieus," Achemus said, grabbing his shoulders, and turning him. Then he shoved him towards the dais, up the first step of stairs.

But Edmund stopped before they could climb the second step. He turned. "Are you saying Orieus doesn't—"

"Children aren't meant to talk about these things, King Edmund," Achemus said, turning him again, rather harshly this time. "Up. Up, come on. Yes." Achemus placed him before the table, grabbed his notebook and quill, put them on the table in front of him, and stomped to the other end of the table himself. "Now, what did we talk about in our last lesson?"

"You should remember, Achemus. It was yesterday," Edmund said. Seeing the eye-roll, he sighed and opened his notebook, flipping to the end of the filled pages. "There. We were learning how the trade route between Narnia, Archenland, and Calormen was made, and how Jadis blocked it with a spell. It was the Tarkan Oimek that proposed the route. King Melier of Archenland had initially refused, but King Gale II convinced him otherwise. And then—"

"Yes, yes," Achemus interrupted him, apparently uninterested. "Listen, King Edmund, today is special. Today, we—"

Edmund stopped him right there with a raised hand. "Are you going to try to poison me?"

"No," Achemus said, his brows knitting together. He tucked back a loose strand of his blonde hair.

"Are you going to poison one of my siblings?"

"No. Lion, why would you—"

"Are you going to show me an ancient ritual that's violent and ill-suited for a child?"

"No!"

"Then go on," Edmund said, smiling. Achemus eyed him suspiciously once and then sighed.

"Well, you see, King Edmund, you'll be taking a test today."

"No!"

"I'm sorry?" Achemus said, blinking at him.

Edmund shook his head. "Is this test going to involve dangerous tasks?"

"No."

"Dangerous outcomes if I fail?"

"I can't answer that!"

"But—"

"King Edmund! As my student, you have no right to question me or my methods!"

"That's not right—"

"And I, as your teacher, have a high authority over you! I'm like your father!"

Edmund laughed. "No, Orieus is—" Edmund froze. "Please don't tell him I said that." He shivered.

"Anyway, Achemus, it has been nice being your student and watching you do new things with your hair everyday but I really don't want to die, or break a limb, or fight for my life, or fight for my siblings' life, or break my neck, or lose my life, or break my neck!"

Edmund revered the Centaur but he never appreciated the flair of his nostrils. "King Edmund, 'Tis a simple task. I'll ask you questions and you'll answer them. Nothing will break your neck," he said with a lopsided grin, much like Edmund's. Edmund didn't _like_ the grin. "Unless the Castle of Cair Paravel is swept away by a large storm or the Giants of Ettinsmoor decide to invade sweet Narnia. But I doubt that'll happen after King Peter def—" He froze as Edmund blinked at him. "Oh, I've caused a problem now, haven't I?"

"Giants of where? And when did Peter _defeat_ —I assume— _giants_?"

"Demiera says true. I must learn to shut up!"

"Achemus!" Edmund said, hands falling onto the table with a _thump!_ "Tell me. Wait, was it the time he came back with a broken leg?" Edmund froze. "No, it was when he almost died before us! Wasn't it! He told me there was a landslide. Oh, how could I have missed! Achemus!" The table shook under his hands. "I'm going to kill him," he muttered under his breath, already running back to the Healing Wing to, indeed, murder his brother! He lied! "Hey!" Edmund said when suddenly, right before he could leave through the door, he was lifted off the ground.

"I'm sorry, Sire. But I must," Achemus said. His strong hands were squishing Edmund's stomach.

"Let me go!" Edmund screamed, trying to kick the Centaur and break from his grasp by beating his stone-hard arms. "Let m—Mmmm, mmm!" Achemus had mercilessly covered his mouth with his hand. Edmund couldn't breathe. "Mmmmm!"

He was pushed into a small chair, taken from beneath a reading table. His mouth was finally released. "Ache—Mmmm!" Achemus had stuffed his mouth with a filthy cloth—Edmund didn't want to know what it was. Achemus then tightly bound his hands, arms going around the chair's top ral. His right wrist screamed. Then the Centaur bound his feet to the chair's legs. "Mmmm!" Achemus took out his gag. "Achemus, I am your King! Let me go!"

"I can't let you kill King Peter," Achemus said, walking to the dais.

"But I'm not going to _actually_ kill him! Beat him to a pulp with my fists, yes! But kill him? I'd sooner die!"

" _And,_ " his tutor added, searching his shelf for a book. He rubbed his chin. "Ah!" he exclaimed, pulling out a book.

Edmund rolled his eyes. "You were saying something?"

Achemus climbed down the dais' steps and stood in front of him. "Yes, _and_ I am going to quiz you. If you answer all the questions correctly, you win. If you don't, well, I'll tell you if you don't."

Edmund tried flicking his wrists. He sighed. "But at least free me, Achemus, dear friend. My body is sore from a recent fight in the Training Grounds and I'd—"

"You can't trick me with your charm, King Edmund. You learnt it from me," Achemus said with a large smile. Edmund's head dropped ahead in defeat. "Now, here are the rules: You'll get twenty seconds to answer each question. If you take more time, the question will be considered unanswered. And if you can't answer every question—"

"Oh, Achemus! What have you done to the poor boy!" Sunstone's voice rang through the library and they both gazed up to find the badger leaning ahead on the railing, wrinkling his nose in order to push up his displaced glasses. He began running to the curled stairs that led to Achemus' dais. "Oh, do you know what his brother did to the last person who tried to tie him up?" Edmund didn't. When had he been tied up before? "He threw the bandit into the Sea! Let him ride the waves!"

When? Why does nobody tell him things around here!

Sunstone jumped off the stairs. "And—"

"King Edmund tore a book."

The badger halted. He adjusted his glasses, glancing at Edmund. "He did?"

"N—"

"Indeed, he did. See?" Achemus said, holding up the book that was in his hands. One of the pages had been torn in half, one of the pieces missing. Sunstone audibly gasped, cupped his long face with his hands, and ran over to Achemus. Achemus had to bend down in order to hand Sunstone the torn book.

"Sunstone won't believe it," Edmund said confidently. But the confident smile disappeared when the badger gave him a threatening glare, shoved the book back into the Centaur's hands (he'd bent down again), and said, "I won't tell the High King on one condition."

"But I didn't tear it!" Edmund squeaked, struggling against the ropes. But his wrist's agonized screams stopped him.

"And what is that, dear Sunstone?"

"Keep him here all night. Your punishment, of course, boy. Oh, don't give me that look! You tore one of the ancient books!" Sunstone then turned to Achemus again. "I'll tell the High King he's visiting Tumnus and the Beavers."

"But—hey! Sunstone!" The badger had already stormed out, shutting the large doors behind him with a _clamp!_ Edmund looked at Achemus. "You're not actually going to keep me here all night, are you? Peter will never believe that. I visited Mr. Tumnus last week! He'll know you've kidnapped me!"

"I made a promise, King Edmund," Achemus said.

"No, you did n—"

"But I will spare you from the punishment if you can answer all my questions. Remember the rules. You have only twenty seconds. Now, the first question," Achemus said and Edmund shifted, ready to answer any question thrown at him, mind jogging and warming up, "who was the first Emperor of the Seven Isles?"

Oh, no. That was the _only_ part he'd left out. But if he dug deep enough, he could find the answer. "Uh, uh…"

"Ten seconds."

"The Empress Lekiva of Brenn!" Edmund shrieked suddenly; the important detail that it was an empress not an emperor helped him remember. "You almost tricked me, Achemus," Edmund praised, shaking his head.

"Seems I did," Achemus said. "That took you fifteen seconds. Try to answer faster next time." Edmund rolled his eyes. "Now, tell me, who killed the first King of Narnia?"

That one was easy. "I think you mean _what_ , Achemus. In the year Thirty, a plague broke out. And the King, as weak as he was in the old age, died due to the sickness. His eldest son took his throne." Edmund shrugged. "See? You can't trick me every time."

Achemus smiled. "Next question: What was the deadliest disease that nearly killed half of Narnia in the year Two-Hundred?"

"Black Fever!" Edmund answered quickly. "Achemus, you made I and Peter dig through the entire Shuddering Wood to search for the cure King Henry hid."

Achemus nodded, smiling in pride. "Then, answer this: Who fought the last war against Jadis?"

Edmund froze. He blinked. Squinted through the library in the dim light for no reason. He hung his head low, chin digging into his chest. But for the love of the Lion, he could not recall. He had studied it. He had. He knew he had! "Uh…"

"Five seconds."

"Achemus, it was…uh…"

"Four."

"I don't…"

Three."

"Oh, Aslan help me."

"Two."

"Ummm…"

"One."

"I don't know!"

"Annnd you've lost," Achemus said, closing the book that he hadn't even looked at once. He placed on a reading table, and walked over to him. He knelt, beginning to untie his feet. "What do you know about Calormene History?"

"Nothing," Edmund admitted truthfully, a bitter frown on his face.

"Here is my question: Who was the first rebel of Calormen? You have until midnight to find the answer."

Edmund looked down at the Centaur. "Achemus, please—"

"They are arriving tomorrow."

"Who?" Edmund asked, wiggling his toes to get some blood flowing.

"The Calormenes. And you should probably learn proper grammar before you can—"

"Hey, Achemus, can I ask you a question?" Edmund said when both his feet were untied. The Centaur nodded. "Why does nobody _tell_ me stuff around here?!"

Achemus laughed. He stood up, and walked behind Edmund. Edmund exhaled in relief when the bonds on his wrists loosened. "Your older siblings probably wanted to shield you from our atrocious guests. They aren't good, King Edmund."

"Then why have we invited them to our home?" Edmund asked, rubbing his wrists as he stood up.

"To renegotiate trade. We would falter without the leather and silk they supply us. As would they without Narnia's precious metals and spices," Achemus replied. "Now, you must search for the answer. You have time until midnight. If you fail or quit, I'll submit you to the etiquette class your Gentle Sister takes."

Edmund's eyes widened. "Oh, no, there's no need for that. Now, out with you. And tell everyone not to disturb me," he said, shoving the much stronger and taller Centaur out of the room with surprising ease. And when Achemus was out of the large doors, Edmund said, "And if I can answer the question before midnight? I'm free to go?"

"Yes," Achemus said with a wide smile. "Now, I think I'll go look for my Allia, whom you scared away, may I add."

Edmund wrinkled his nose. "Ugh." And he bolted the doors shut. Last he could see, Achemus had a hand raised, as if wanting to tell him something. But he didn't care. He spun around on his heels, rubbing his hands in anticipation. But the initial enthusiasm died when he realized just how big the Library was for the hundredth time. He clapped his hands, and an eldritch echo answered him. He wished Peter would attend the History class with him. But he was probably too busy struggling to find where to place his defenses and when to attack an imaginary army. Edmund could just imagine the glare Orieus gave him when he answered wrong. Oh, the look on Peter's face was priceless.

But then Edmund sighed, pouting. "Books." Edmund walked forward. "I hate books."

* * *

Achemus was drinking tea in his room in the Southern Wing when the doors burst open, cold wind rushed in to make his golden strands fall into his cup of tea, and a very put-off King Edmund threw a book onto his desk. "Oh, now you've made a mess," Achemus said, pulling out his hair from his tea, frowning in disgust. He squeezed out tea from his hair, glancing at his student and King.

"There _is_ no first rebel of Calormen, is there?" Edmund said surprisingly calmly despite his heavy breathing and clenched fists. "Why do you like to torture me? I was in there for six hours!"

"The first Emperor of Calormen?"

"What?"

"Just answer me."

"The Tisroc Ardeeb," Edmund answered, blinking at Achemus who settled onto the long couch made specially for Centaurs.

"Their first poet?"

"The Priest Theim of Teshishban. He wrote to express his devotion to their god Tash. Achemus—"

"The Tarkan to first propose an alliance with Archenland for the fear of an attack from the south?"

"Tarkan Himesh. Achemus, What I—"

"The Wife of Tash?"

"The Lady Zardeenah. Now—"

"The Sister of Tash?"

Edmund frowned in appalment. "Zardeenah. But Achemus—"

"The first Temple was built in the city of…?"

"Achemus!" Edmund exclaimed. "I understand," he said, smiling.

"Then you'll do me the favour of—"

"Nope."


End file.
